


Too Damp for a Spark

by asexual-fandom-queen (writeordietrying)



Category: Arrow (TV 2012), DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV)
Genre: F/M, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M, Mick Rory Deserves Better, Oliver and Felicity Decide to Give It to Him, Past Barry Allen/Leonard Snart - Freeform, Past Mick Rory/Leonard Snart, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-01
Updated: 2016-12-01
Packaged: 2018-09-03 13:43:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,256
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8716168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writeordietrying/pseuds/asexual-fandom-queen
Summary: Mick feels out of place with the Legends. Oliver and Felicity offer him a way out.





	

**Author's Note:**

> STOP HURTING MY PYRO SON!!!!
> 
> Anyway, with that said, this is my contribution to the Mick Rory Defense Squad, which I am 100% behind in every way, shape, and form. Given that the only people who seem to consistently treat Mick with any kind of respect lately are Oliver and Felicity, and there's been this huge call to bring Mick over to Arrow on Tumblr, I can't say I'm surprised this weird pre-ot3 thing happened. ~~I mean, you probably could read it as gen, but why would you?~~
> 
> The title of this fic is from Dodie Clark's song [When](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Y2LuQAtD9tE), which is absolutely gorgeous and I recommend you all go listen to at your earliest convenience. 
> 
> And if you like the fic, as always, leave me comments and kudos! I super appreciate it!

The glass under Mick’s fingers is cold and slick with condensation. He raises his beer to his lips - how many is this,  _ six _ ,  _ seven _ , he’s lost count - and takes a long, deep swig. He doesn’t feel drunk, hardly registers the gentle tingle of alcohol coursing through his bloodstream and into his fingers and toes. He needs to be numb, number than this, number than sick feeling gnawing in the pit of his stomach. 

The sound of bright, airy laughter filters across the room and Mick’s grip tightens around his bottle. Skirt - Supergirl -  _ Kara  _ \- laughs like sunshine, like she’s never known loss, or agony, or defeat, even if the tense set of her shoulder tells Mick in no uncertain terms she has. Mick wants to cross the floor and make her stutter - blush -  _ laugh  _ \- again, but she’s with Sara, and Mick knows Sara would only shut him down, squirrel him away somewhere he can’t speak out of turn, can’t be an embarrassment. 

So Mick does her job for her. He stays out of the way, next to the food and the drinks, having his fill of each like that might make the gnawing stop. His eyes scan the room for somewhere else to be, but he comes up empty. Haircut and Ramon are talking science, arms flailing wildly with the kind of unbridled enthusiasm neither man has ever been any good at containing. The Kid’s got Thea Queen in a corner, whispered conversation passing back and forth in quarters much closer than one should keep in polite company. Even Amaya and Nate have found worthwhile company, the ARGUS lady and her husband, a hero’s whose costume is a crisp, clean leather jacket, and at least Mick can appreciate his sense of style. 

Mick considers branching out, talking to people who aren’t on the team. His wandering gaze lands on The Flash, Barry Allen, whose posture is heavy and bent, like the weight of the world is five seconds from crushing him even as he stands with a beer in his hand, a smile on his face, and a beautiful woman at his side. He looks so  _ young _ out of the costume, so tired and broken and  _ stuck _ , like he can’t let go of everything they’ve been through with the Dominators, like he can’t let go of anything he’s been through at all. Mick knows what the kid did for Len, the hope he offered him, but Barry Allen doesn’t look like he has it in him anymore to make speeches about having much faith in anything. 

Mick sees Snow, too, sitting on the arm of a sofa talking to the Professor. She wears a set of glowing cuffs on her wrists, and Mick remembers what Kara said about the Doc having ice powers she isn’t able use. He doesn’t think it’s because she can’t, not with her spine so stiff, every muscle tensed like she’s anticipating trouble. She isn’t drinking, just water in her hands, and Mick wonders if he should apologize, for the bomb, for everything. But she’s with Stein, and Stein knows who Mick is, would tell her Mick can’t possibly mean it, that he’s still the same oafish brute who kidnapped her all those months ago, and Mick doesn’t want to ruin her evening. 

He stares into his drink instead, picking up another donut from the snack table and eating half in one go. He washes it down with more beer, grimacing as the bitter hops mix with the taste of cloyingly artificial strawberry frosting. 

It takes Mick by surprise when a warm hand settles on his arm. He flinches and looks over, immediately locking gazes with a pair of wide, worried blue eyes set behind a pair of rectangular, tortoise shell glasses. 

“Sorry,” Felicity says, but she doesn’t draw her hand away. Her lips are berry pink and parted softly, plush and wet, her cheeks stained pink, either from alcohol or exhaustion, or maybe some combination of both. Mick notes the dark brown roots growing in at her hairline, as much as he notes that blonde looks good on her. 

“What?” Mick prompts when she doesn’t speak, rough and clipped, not because he wants to but because he needs for her to stop staring at him like that, like no one has since… just since. 

Felicity chews her lip. “Oliver and I wanna talk to you,” she replies, her voice still calm and level, like Mick hasn’t growled at her, hasn’t shoved at her with his voice. She grabs onto his jacket and demands that he follow, leading him away from the party and into a separate kitchen. This is her apartment, Mick remembers, as the sound of spirited conversation dulls into a gentle hum behind the heavy, closed door. 

Oliver waits, leaned beside the stove, arms crossed over his chest but his expression open nonetheless. He shifts when Mick enters, standing taller, bringing his chin up so it’s level, but never raised, in Mick’s direction. Felicity lets go of Mick’s jacket and moves to Oliver’s side, hovering close enough to touch without actually doing so, like her body heat alone is touch enough. 

“Not overstaying my welcome, am I?” Mick drawls before either Felicity or Oliver can speak. Felicity frowns, her face an honest, open book. Oliver’s reaction is more subdued, but Mick catches it anyway, the way his brow just barely furrows and head tilts almost imperceptibly to the left. 

“The party is to celebrate stopping the Dominators,” Oliver says, his voice level but tight. “You’re just as welcome here as anyone else.”

Mick doesn’t know what to say to that. He left his beer on the table and sorely feels its absence. “Right,” he settles on at least. “What’s this about talking?” Mick adds when the lingering silence and heavy stares become too much, make his chest ache and his skin crawl. “Can’t say I’m a big fan.” 

“Well, actually, we wanted to ask you something,” Felicity says. She’s keyed up and anxious, all jittery energy and mile-a-minute speech patterns that makes Mick anxious too, but also strangely endeared by her. 

“Obviously you’re doing this whole important mission through time thing,” Felicity continues, readjusting her glasses as she speaks. “And it’s not that we don’t think you belong there, or that you aren’t helping the team, because believe me, I’ve heard plenty of stories, and whether they realize it or not, you really save their asses. A lot.” 

“What Felicity is trying to say,” Oliver interjects with a dopey smile and a small, amused huff. “Is that we’d like you to join us on Team Arrow.” 

Mick’s breath catches in his throat. “What?” he asks. He wasn’t numb before but he’s numb now, can’t feel his fingers or his toes, can barely hear the sounds around him as they become muted and distant. 

“I know it might seem like we’ve got plenty of cooks in the kitchen,” Felicity picks up again. “Or vigilantes in the Arrowcave, as it were, but Thea’s actually technically retired, and everyone other than Dig is still in training, and between Vigilante - our weird serial killer - and Prometheus - our even weirder serial killer with a personal vendetta against Oliver - and, wow, why do I still live in Star City? Anyway, we need all the help we can get.”  

“Specifically, we need  _ your  _ help,” Oliver adds. Mick’s so amused listening to Felicity ramble, he almost misses the way the sincerity in Oliver’s voice makes his stomach flip. His eyes are so blue, too. Blue like Felicity’s. Blue like… just blue. 

Mick snorts. “And what’s an unstable lunatic gonna add to your roster exactly?” he challenges. 

To his surprise, Felicity scoffs and rolls her eyes. “Please,” she says. “You think I’m afraid of a little fire and poor impulse control? When I first started working with Oliver, his idea of a successful night’s work was running people though with arrows. Like, to death. Just, all his targets, super dead, no mercy.”

As Felicity speaks, Oliver tenses at her side. They still aren’t touching but she stops dead like she can feel him, turning to place a hand on his arms and stare up at him with soft, earnest eyes. “Which he doesn’t do anymore,” she adds, like she’s telling Mick, but she says it right to Oliver, never once breaking their stare. “Because he’s reformed. And a hero.” 

Mick wonders if Felicity even realizes the way she rubs Oliver’s arm, or the way Oliver melts into her touch like nothing else in the world matters but her and that she  _ approves  _ of him, and  _ believes  _ in him. When Felicity finally turns her gaze from Oliver to Mick, Mick wonders if the same awestruck expression plays out on his features, if it gets any more obvious when Oliver looks at him the same way, just as earnest and faithful as Felicity. 

“You don’t really want me around,” Mick cautions, voice rough with emotion the way it’s usually rough for show. 

Oliver smiles sadly. “I think you should let us be the judge of that,” he says. 

Mick clears his throat. “I already have a team,” he says. “Can’t just walk away from ‘em. Lost too much to keep ‘em all in once piece already.” 

“Maybe you’re debt’s been paid more than you think it has,” Oliver replies. He looks at Mick like he knows, like he can see exactly what’s keeping Mick on the Waverider, but how can he when he doesn’t know the whole story? Unless he’s lived it too. Unless he’s here because someone else isn’t. “Maybe your debt,” Oliver adds. “Is living a happy life.” 

“You don’t have to leave the Legends,” Felicity says softly. She moves from Oliver’s side to stand in front of Mick, to place a hand on his arm, scarred beneath the jacket, not that she knows, and he wonders if she’d still put that same small, delicate hand there if she did. “We just wanted you to know that there’ll always be a team here for you that actually wants to have you.” 

Mick bristles. “They wanna have me,” he replies, on instinct, on autopilot. They do, don’t they, his team, his crew? They want Mick around. Or maybe they’re all like Hunter in the end. Maybe Mick was never who they wanted, only who they got stuck with when the better man lost. 

“Well, then, count yourself lucky,” Felicity says with a small, gentle smile. She pats his arm gently, still hasn’t taken her hand away. “Because we do, too.” 

Mick scoffs. “Still don’t know why,” he replies. 

Oliver answers with a timid smile and an upward flick of his eyes under thick, dark lashes, nothing like the strong, confident Green Arrow Mick watched take on alien invaders with strength of will and a compound bow alone. 

“We could show you,” Oliver says. “If you stick around.” 

Mick changes tracks, unsure of what to say in the face of so much sincerity and hope. He gets it now, what Barry Allen must have meant to Len, even if he didn’t before. “You two together or something?” he asks, head nodding between Oliver and Felicity. Both look at each other and stammer, looking away and then back and then away and then back again until Mick worries they might give themselves whiplash. 

“We were engaged,” Felicity says after a moment. 

“Now we’re not,” Oliver adds with a tight lipped smile. Felicity smiles back, just as sad.  

“Why?” Mick asks again, brow furrowed, and Oliver and Felicity laugh. 

“Stick around long enough,” Oliver replies. “And we’ll show you that, too.” 

Mick shakes his head. “Feels like something I’d have to see to believe,” he says. 

Felicity perks up. “So does that mean you’ll stay?” 

A sudden warmth spreads through Mick’s chest, warm in a way alcohol hasn’t made him for months, or his Heat Gun, or his memories of clear blue eyes and an icy smirk. “Means I’ll think about it,” he says at last. 

And damn it if they don’t look hopeful, both of them, even if Felicity shows it more than Oliver does, bouncing in place on the balls of her feet, smile bright. Oliver smiles too, softly, and nods at him, firm and understanding. 

“I didn’t say yes,” Mick cautions, but it does nothing to dampen anyone’s mood, not even his own. 

“Do you think you’ll need a new code name?” Felicity wonders, almost to herself. Oliver smiles at her, and that tells Mick all he needs to know. “Not that there’s anything wrong with Heat Wave, but people know who you are, and Oliver’s really picky about people figuring out his secret identity.”

“Because it’s a  _ secret  _ identity,” Oliver retorts. “It’s not my fault Barry tells everyone he meets. He’s making me look bad.” 

They squabble back and forth as Mick watches on, like they’ve forgotten he’s there, only not when Felicity turns and ropes him back into the conversation, trying to sway him to her side even as Oliver tries doing the same. It feels odd, to be so welcomed, wanted, to have his opinion heard and respected, like it matters, like he matters. For the first time in a long time, Mick feels something that isn’t empty and hollow. There’s a spark of something, in the pit of his belly, that used to burn so bright but has since become charcoal and ash. But not anymore. This is good, Mick thinks. This is nice. 

Maybe Star City wouldn’t be such a bad place to settle down. 

**Author's Note:**

> come say hi on [tumblr](http://asexual-fandom-queen.tumblr.com/).

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Building Moments](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10666935) by [musicmillennia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/musicmillennia/pseuds/musicmillennia)




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